


Clarity

by MyrrhHymns (TimoMeneses)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, I'm not good with angst btw, M/M, kind of, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimoMeneses/pseuds/MyrrhHymns
Summary: If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedyIf our love is insanity, why are you my clarity





	Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary from Clarity by Zedd.  
> Props to [Em](/users/Emela/works) for the _amazing_ beta

Stiles wasn’t sure why he went by the loft every weekend.  
  
At first he told himself he wanted to buy that loft, if he had the money. Maybe, if he saved enough money, he could buy the whole building and move there. The loft was the perfect place to throw parties, it had plenty of room and no neighbors to complain about the noise. And obviously it was a perfect place to live, Stiles could imagine himself sleeping and waking up to the view of the whole city. From there he could also see the border of the preserve.  
  
Or maybe that was the only connection he had with him.  
  
No, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be it. It mustn’t be it.  
  
One day his father asked him what was he doing out every Saturday like clockwork. The Sheriff could be interested in knowing, but he also might have been curious if Stiles was dating anyone.  
  
No, dad, not anymore.  
  
Stiles said he was exercising. So trying not to make a liar out of himself, he started jogging around the abandoned industrial complex, his jeep parked in the driveway of that one building. And those runs actually paid off, after a few months of regular exercise he was able to tire himself enough to sleep a little more. Three hours a night was an excellent improvement; what a low bar.  
  
It wasn’t like the sleepless nights were anything new, Stiles had lived with panic attacks and nightmares ever since his mother died. No, before that. His nightmares began the first time his own mother looked at him and didn’t recognize him. He didn’t say that to anyone, not even Scott. Sure his father could see the link between the memory loss and the nightmares and Melissa could’ve instructed Scott not to pressure Stiles on that event in particular, but Stiles himself never said it to anyone.  
  
Well, anyone until Derek Hale.  
  
Looking back, Stiles felt so old. The memory of him and Derek, laying naked on Derek’s gigantic bed made Stiles feel so naïve. Back then he thought he and Derek were meant to be just because Derek listened to him. He listened to Stiles laugh at the mishaps he and Scott got into back in junior high. He listened to Stiles as he furiously ranted about the social rules of high school. And he also listened to Stiles cry. Those were the most fragile moments; Derek didn’t try to comfort him with words, he didn’t have to. He didn’t even have to dry Stiles’ tears; he just hugged Stiles so hard as if he could bring the pieces of Stiles’ broken heart back. When he told Derek his mother died without even knowing Stiles existed, Derek cried with him. Derek had known pain, he had known loss, but he had no idea what it felt like to see someone he loved dying without recognizing him. Derek shared his pain with Stiles as well; the betrayal, the loss, the fear. Unlike Stiles, Derek had everybody he had ever loved taken away so suddenly he couldn’t even say goodbye. Neither of them could tell who had it worst; the slow loss, the sudden loss, the loss of those who still live, the loss of those who could never wake up again.  
  
He loved Derek.  
He hated Derek.  
He missed Derek.  
  
The first time they kissed was rushed and hungry. Stiles wasn’t sure what was pulling him by the stomach, but he clung to Derek and kissed him furiously. It was messy and wild, like most of their interactions were back then, they were always too aware of each other’s presences and neither of them had a record of dealing with their emotions healthily. That first time was a sure foreshadow of their relationship, but he didn’t feel like it was; all he felt was Derek against him, Derek’s hands on his body and his hands on Derek’s body. It was raw and instinctive, and really fucking hot. They kept fucking around for months before one of them slipped. Of course, that was Derek.  
  
There was no way in denying Stiles was fascinated with Derek’s body, who wouldn’t be? Derek was built like a Greco-Roman statue; a hung Greco-Roman statue. After months of exploring, Stiles could remember every detail of that unbelievable body. He remembered Derek’s feet were almost the same size as his own; he remembered every curve of his calves, the bone, the muscle and the hairy skin. He remembered the shape of his knees and he also knew Derek’s right knee was slightly overworked. And the thights, oh god those thights, thick as tree trunks made out of pure muscle; Derek could easily bench press Stiles’ whole body weight. Stiles loved the fact Derek regularly went out to the beach to get a tan; if they had lasted until the summer Derek would’ve taken him along. Stiles spent the following day making jokes about Derek in a swim suit. Derek’s whole body was tanned, including somehow his inner thights, they were barely a shade lighter. Derek’s inner thight were also very sensitive; unfortunately Stiles didn’t have many opportunities to have his way with that information. Whenever Stiles caressed Derek there he yapped and closed his tights, protecting the sensitive skin; Stiles loved to leave hickeys there, but that was only possible with Derek’s legs bound, or else he would’ve crushed Stiles’ skull with his powerful thights. He remembered every detail of Derek’s dick, soft or hard, he knew every vein, every inch of uncut skin, every dimple... Fuck, he was horny. He hadn’t gotten laid since Derek left. He tried a couple of times, but he was never able to finish. Derek had broken him.  
  
He felt broken in more than one way.  
  
Stiles enjoyed every minute he had with Derek, however twisted that was. They fought, screamed at each other; Derek had even punched his hand once. But Stiles could see past it. Derek was strong, really strong, but when Derek punched his palm it hadn’t really hurt; he could’ve broken Stiles hand if he had wanted, but he didn’t. Stiles also confessed he made it a bigger deal than it really was; he was being emphatic reacting to that punch. Stiles knew he was messed up when he found himself enjoying Derek’s company. He found himself worrying if Derek was alright, if he’d eaten well, if he wasn’t pushing himself too hard during his workouts. Stiles found out about Derek’s difficult past throught other people but nothing could soften the shock of the first time Derek woke up screaming. Night terrors. Stiles knew a thing or two about that kind of nightmares, the terror of knowing he was dreaming and yet being unable to break free from the demons of the night, the panic squeezing the air out his lungs and having to scream himself awake; he knew how it all felt. But seeing Derek jumping out of bed, crying in dread, that broke something inside Stiles, watching Derek so vulnerable and frightened and being unable to do shit about it. Stiles cried, hugged Derek tightly and let his tears roll for someone who wasn’t his family. Derek broke Stiles a little more the first time they spent the whole day together, just the two of them. The whole world was right then and right there, just the two of them, sunrise to sunrise. They did the most mundane things, but it was perfect because they did it together. Derek broke Stiles the first time he fell asleep in his arms. Stiles was very susceptible to the cold, he always wore at least two layers of clothes because it felt like his body was freezing, even though it was fucking California. Derek, however, was a living furnace and absorbing the heat emanating from Derek’s body became one of Stiles’ things to do.  
  
Being with Derek was one of his favorite things to do.  
  
Perhaps that’s why he made weekly visits to the industrial plant.  
  
Of course it is.  
  
“Stiles?”  
  
Fuck my life.  
  
Oh well, if it wasn’t Mr. Derek Fucking Hale in front of him after ten months three and a quarter weeks (but who’s counting?). Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but his brain was still damaged from the whiplash.  
  
Is this real?  
  
He knew Derek was right in front of him, he just couldn’t believe it. He tried to say something, anything, hi, hello, greetings, anything. Yet Derek was the one to break the silence.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Hi,” Stiles answered out sheer reflex and nothing else.  
  
“You look good.” That was not what Stiles was expecting. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but that sure as hell wasn’t it.  
  
“Uh...”  
  
Say something, anything!  
  
“Thanks, you too. I mean, as well.”  
  
Fuck.  
  
Derek did look good though. Better than good, he looked great. He hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d seen him. His hair was different and he looked a little slimmer than before, he just looked fit rather than jacked. He still liked wearing Henley’s that tightly hugged his torso, apparently. And his eyes, God his eyes were still mesmerizing as a starry sky; it was like watching a galaxy spin on space, it was like watching fireflies dancing though the night.  
  
“So, what’s up?” Stiles, smooth as always. Derek seemed completely unfazed by the question, answering like the small talk it was supposed to be.  
  
“Peter’s out of Eichen, I have to sign some papers because they still use fax machines there.”  
  
It was a joke. Derek was making a fucking joke.  
  
“Hah, totally.” It felt like it was Stiles’ turn to break the awkward silence, but he didn’t know what to say yet.  
  
“So... Do you wanna come up?”  
  
Fuck yeah.  
  
Fuck no.  
  
Stiles did want to enter the loft again, the place that pretty much became his second home since Derek and him started to hang out. It was the exact reason he absolutely did not want to set foot on the loft, it would open the wound that had barely healed. That was the last place he’d seen Derek, that was the place Derek had walked away from him.  
  
“Oh, hard pass dude. I’m uh, jogging right now. Don’t wanna miss the tempo, right?”  
  
“Is that so?” Derek rose his goddamn eyebrows in visible doubt.  
  
“Yeah.” It was a plain lie, but he put up his best poker face.  
  
The air was heavy, the silence between the two of them strained with tension. That was everything that was left for them. Derek’s offer was just testing the waters and the lake of Stiles’ heart was frozen. The loft was their oasis, their secret garden, but there was nothing there for him now. He knew it. He knew there was nobody but themselves to blame.  
  
“You left.” Those words slipped out of Stiles’ lips even before he could think about it.  
  
“You let me go.”  
  
“Of course I let you go! What was I supposed to do? You know what, I liked you better when you were a martyr complexed dick.” Stiles turned to the car and angrily marched towards it. Five feet away he turned back and bolted towards Derek again. “No, fuck you. You don’t get to ‘you never asked me to stay’ yourself out of this one. Fuck you. What was I supposed to do? Wait for you to say ‘if you love me let me go’, sit down and watch you leave anyway? You know, you... You were the one who told me to go; I didn’t go to the academy, I chose to stay here, with dad, with Scott, with you. So don’t you dare, DON’T YOU DARE put this on me. That’s on you, Derek.” Stiles wasn’t sure of the reason they were fighting, all he knew was he was pissed and done with all that nonsense; his chest ached and he was in verge of tears. Derek was  
unsurprisingly silent and Stiles just kept on going. “Why did you even come back? Do you just like to make me suffer, is that it? It took me months to get over you and now you just show up? Why are you even here?”  
“I told you, Peter...”  
“Bullshit! Peter escaped months ago, we found him and he’s with Malia now.”  
“I had to come, Malia isn’t legally his daughter so I’m his next of kin.”  
“You promised you’d never lie to me.” It was a low blow, Stiles knew that. By the looks of him, Derek also knew that, his jaw clenched silently and he took a deep breath. But he didn’t say anything. Derek was holding back and his eyebrows gave the message loud and clear, Derek was holding something back. “Spare me from your pity and just say it already.”  
“You lied to me.”  
  
Shit.  
  
One day Braeden showed up back in town out of nowhere. Apparently Malia had made a deal with her to find her mother, the Desert Wolf, and forgot to mention it to anybody. Schoolwork and lacrosse season had them by the neck, so it was up to Derek to assist and guide her. There was something between the two of them, Stiles was pretty sure; even he could see the chemistry between the two of them. When he asked Derek if something had happened with Braeden, he denied; Stiles really wanted to believe him, yet he couldn’t. He cried that night, a lot. Derek showed up in Stiles' bedroom window that night and held his trembling body against his for hours, until Stiles was out of tears to cry. That night Derek promised him he’d never lie to him; he held Stiles’ hand against his chest and let him feel his heart and it didn’t skip a beat. Stiles let out a strained laugh, relieved; Derek wasn’t lying to him, Derek wouldn’t lie to him. He made a promise and crossed his heart, so Stiles did the same. No lies, ever.  
  
This time Stiles was the one speechless. Derek had caught him red handed, and it wasn’t that hard to see the lie there. There were literally a million other places he could jog and a thousand more places to park his jeep besides Derek’s building.  
  
And sure as hell, I’m not over Derek Hale.  
  
“I guess I walked right into this one, didn’t I?” Stiles smirked halfheartedly.  
  
“You never knew when to shut up.”  
  
“You never told me to shut up.”  
  
“No, I didn’t.”  
  
The silence was back, but the tension was gone. There was a small smile on the corner of Derek’s mouth. For the first time during that dreadful conversation, he was relaxed.  
  
“I didn’t come back because of Peter.”  
  
“I didn’t come here to jog.”  
  
“I missed you.”  
  
“I missed you too.”  
  
“Do you want to come in?”  
  
“Yes. I’d like that very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not good with angst, really. I feel it's still a little dry but I have to finish my (many) unfinished works, so here you go!


End file.
